


In the Absence of Light

by Silvials



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Kind of Domestic, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Steve Needs a Hug, Steve takes care of Bucky, and so does Bucky, canon complaint, oblivious idiots in love, technically kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 22:03:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9092500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvials/pseuds/Silvials
Summary: “Steve, don’t tell me you just managed to kidnap the Winter Soldier?”“Technically it was an accident.”“Well that’s one helluvan accident.”





	

Ever since Steve found that Bucky was still alive, he couldn’t recall how many times he longed to be in Bucky’s embrace. It was the last thing Bucky had given him before he left for the war and it made Steve wish he been a little more affectionate with him during their time with the Howling Commandos.

But Bucky had never the same after he was rescued from that dammed Hydra facility and there were moments where he felt more like a stranger to Steve. He grew more reserved, his smiles forced and his laughter not quite as carefree as before. The war had hardened his boyish features and the glint in his eyes was more weary than bright. Steve didn’t know how to talk to him anymore, let alone how to initiate contact.

It was not until he was nose diving the plane into the Arctic when he realized how badly he wished to feel the warmth of Bucky’s embrace one last time. Maybe then the water wouldn’t have felt so terribly cold against his bones.

It was the last thing he thought of when he died and it was the first thing he desired when he woke up 70 years later. However that desire had withered with the knowledge that most of the people he cared about were gone.

And then several months later, Steve found himself staring into the eyes of a ghost. If he thought Bucky seemed like a stranger after Zola’s experimentation, he couldn’t even begin to come up with a word that would comprehend the hollowness in his gaze as he pointed a gun straight at Steve, intent on pulling the trigger without a second thought.

Steve’s thoughts erupted into turmoil, a myriad of questions flitting through his mind, but all of it was drowned out by the intense pinpricks of longing that he thought he had buried with the memory of his best friend.

That was what Steve clung to when he and Sam set out to pursue the Winter Soldier’s trail and that was what kept him going even as they encountered several dead ends. There were times when he wondered if he would ever get Bucky back. He already accepted the fact that his friend would never be the same but chasing a cold trail only succeeded in inciting doubts on whether or not Bucky was even still alive after the hellicarriers went down.  He would give anything just to see him again and if Bucky’s trauma had healed even just a little during his time on the run, maybe he would even stay. Maybe Steve could hold him again.

 He thought about this every night while staring at the dusty canvas of motel ceilings.

But it was not like this

It was never like this.

He had Bucky curled up in his arms now, utterly limp and dead to the world. His head lolled against Steve’s shoulder as he carried him through the empty streets, his face tucked away in a hoodie that he had dressed him in. Steve couldn’t help but shiver as he felt a trickle of warmth travel down his collarbone. He shifted Bucky in his arms and peeled the hood away from his face, revealing a large gash he had sustained during their earlier encounter. The sight shot a pang of guilt through his heart but it was somewhat assuaged when he noticed Bucky’s face was still slack and void of any pain.

He set Bucky down as soon as he rounded the corner where Sam’s house was situated, taking a hold of his waist and slinging his metal arm over his shoulder before his body made a lurch towards the ground. It was too early in the morning for anyone to be roaming around the block but Steve couldn’t risk seeming suspicious to anyone who might be peering out their windows. At the moment, he looked more like someone who was helping his drunk friend find his way back home.

Once he arrived at the doorstep, he debated on whether he should still knock or just let himself in, after all, Sam had already given him the key, and yet it seemed a little rude to just drag the Winter Soldier into someone else’s house without giving them a heads up first.

Steve opted to just knock instead, although that proved to be a difficult task while he was supporting Bucky’s dead weight.

The door opened after a few heartbeats and Sam’s perplexed expression peered at them through the crack. “What the hell Steve?” he said after giving them both a once-over, opening the door a little wider.

Steve could offer him nothing but a sheepish grin, his cheeks coloring slightly once he realized this wasn’t the first time he showed up at Sam’s door with a Soviet assassin. “Yeah, I can explain later, but now,” he grunted as he shifted Bucky’s weight. “Can you help me with him?”

“Alright,” Sam said, his voice bordering an exasperated sigh as he moved to sling Bucky’s other arm over his shoulder and haul him inside the house. They made it halfway through the living room before Sam decided to speak up again.

“Steve, don’t tell me you just managed to kidnap the Winter Soldier?”

 “Technically it was an accident.”

“Well that’s one hell of an accident.”

There was an amused lilt in Sam’s tone that made a smirk pull at the corner of Steve’s mouth, although it soon melted away into a wistful look. “I went out for a run last night because I couldn’t really sleep,” he offered as a form of an explanation because it seemed like the most logical place to start. His brows were knitted with concentration at this point, trying to avoid running into any furniture as he maneuvered Bucky towards the guest bedroom where he was staying.

They miraculously managed to deposit him onto the bed without waking him up, although Steve didn’t know whether to consider this a good thing or a bad thing for it suddenly made him wonder about the extent of Bucky’s head injury.

“I found him sitting on a park bench,” he continued, casting a worried glance towards Bucky’s prone form. “He didn’t see me approach—he didn’t seem to be aware of anything either but I tried to talk to him, I tried to touch his shoulder and he just… _snapped_. We ended up in a scuffle and I might have bashed his head against the concrete.” Steve winced as he recalled the sickening sound of Bucky’s head colliding with the ground and directed his gaze away from him guiltily.

“Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself, I would have reacted the same way if someone was trying to kill me,” Sam assured. He stood back and crossed his arms over his chest somewhat awkwardly as he watched Steve settle on the edge of the bed.

“The thing is ….” Steve muttered absently, his eyes fixated on Bucky’s face once more. “He wasn’t trying to kill me this time; he was trying to get away.”

“Well, fight or flight is kind of a common response for someone on the run. Did he at least show any signs of recognizing you?”

Steve’s brows furrowed. “I couldn’t really tell.”

A heavy silence passed between them for a moment. The expression on Steve’s face must have hinted that he was drifting away into a contemplative daze because Sam cleared his throat rather loudly from where he was leaning against the door frame, motioning his head towards Bucky. “None of that now Steve, we’ve got a bigger problem at the moment.”

He strode forward and knelt on the side of the bed next to the night stand, gingerly brushing away Bucky’s dark hair to get a better view of the gash.

Steve peered over his shoulder. “Does he have a concussion?”

Sam shook his head. “Doesn’t look like it. The wound’s already started to heal itself.”

The tension visibly seeped out of Steve’s shoulders upon hearing that but Sam interrupted him before his thoughts could stray too far. “I’m not sure if that makes him immune to getting an infection though. We’re gonna have to clean the wound to make sure.”

“I’ll do it,” Steve offered, no longer caring if he sounded a little too eager. “Can you get the first aid kit?”

“I’m pretty sure I have one here somewhere.” Sam dutifully stood up and staked off towards the living room, murmuring bemusedly about super soldiers and their outlandish healing abilities.

Steve trudged towards the bathroom shortly after he left, retrieving a towel from one of the cabinets and dampening it under the tap. He settled back on his spot on the edge of the bed, gently running the cloth over the angry red gash on Bucky’s forehead.  He tried to concentrate on the task at hand but his effort weren’t enough to suppress the clamor in his mind. It made Steve wonder why Bucky came back to D.C after he had thrown them off his trail somewhere across Eastern Europe. It had been two weeks since he and Sam stopped their search but he dared not hope that Bucky had come back _for him_.

Steve froze when Bucky suddenly made a noise at the back of his throat,shifting his head away from the contact. His hand hovered hesitantly over the wound as he watched the other’s face for any signs of discomfort. Bucky’s nose scrunched slightly and the sight caused Steve’s lips to bloom into a smile. He remembered that was the face that Bucky made whenever he was interrupted from his slumber. He carried on with his task once Bucky’s breathing evened out, his eyes following the movement of his own hands as tried his best to ignore the sickening churn of nostalgia in the pit of his stomach.

Sam came in a few moments later to help him patch up the wound and then he was out the door again, claiming he needed to go make breakfast, although Steve knew it was his way of giving them privacy. He _did_ instruct Steve to leave the door open though, just in case he needed help if any incidents were to happen.

Left with nothing else to do, Steve stood up and began to pace the length of the room, throwing a furtive glance at Bucky one in a while as if he was afraid he would disappear if he looked away for too long. He was tempted to wrestle him out of his tac gear to change him into something more comfortable but he eventually decided against it. Bucky probably won’t react well if he woke up to someone undressing him.

He didn’t know how long he kept pacing. Trickles of daylight had begun to pry through the drawn curtains by the time the dizziness settled in. Steve was just about to take a seat on the bed when another groan escaped Bucky’s lips; this time it was accompanied by a distinct flutter of his eyes.

Steve immediately drew away from the bed and planted his feet firmly on the ground to keep himself from darting forward. He watched as Bucky’s back seemed to go rigid the more he struggled back into wakefulness, his hands closing around the sheets as if they were held down by restraints. His eyes snapped open suddenly, wide and alert and lacking the grogginess of someone who had just woke up and his chest heaved with heavy breaths as he stared blankly at the ceiling.

“Buck?” Steve whispered, although it pierced through the silence well enough for Bucky to hear. His gaze flicked towards his general direction, brows creasing slightly as his vision cleared. Steve couldn’t tell whether it was from confusion or recognition.

“Do you remember what happened or where you are right now?” he asked, inching forward slowly and keeping his palms up to show that he wasn’t a threat. Bucky mirrored his movement, propping himself onto his elbows slowly and keeping his gaze fixed on Steve’s face without meeting his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Steve tried instead when Bucky gave no response, however his efforts came to no avail as Bucky continued to give him a cold and calculated stare. 

Steve didn’t know where to go on from there. He leaned back again and turned away, suppressing the urge to sigh as he pursed his lips in deep thought. Thankfully, it was Bucky who spoke this time, his voice faint and hoarse with disuse. “What do you want from me?”

“I want to help you,” Steve said, taking in a shaky breath to keep his voice from wavering. “Do you remember who I am?”

“You’re the man on the bridge,” Bucky answered simply and whatever hope Steve had built before withered away upon hearing this.

Bucky’s shoulders tensed even more at the change in Steve’s expression, as if preparing himself for a blow. “Was that not the answer you wanted?”

“No.”

Bucky flinched.

“No, I mean…” Steve added hastily before Bucky could get anymore wrong ideas. “I didn’t want a specific answer, I was just asking.”

Bucky nodded mutely in understanding, allowing his shoulders to relax just a fraction as he leaned heavily against the headboard.  “I’m not the same anymore, Steve.” He probably meant it as a statement but the strain in his tone made it seem more like a lament. He meet Steve’s gaze for a fleeting moment as if to prove his point. His eyes were cold and sharp as the glint of diamonds in the darkness and Steve almost believed him for a second.

_Almost._

He shook his head rather adamantly and he swore he saw Bucky roll his eyes at his stubbornness. “I know you’re not the same but I don’t really care. Heck, I’m not the same either, Buck, I’m just—it’s just nice to have you back.”

“I’m not who you’re looking for,” Bucky insisted but he took one more look at Steve and realized this was an argument he could never win. He settled for resting his head back against the headboard, closing his eyes and shutting Steve out along with the rest of the world.

Steve sighed. He still had a lot on his mind but he figured his efforts would only go to waste if he tried to reason with Bucky now. _At least he knows he’s Bucky,_ he reassured himself and decided to stride over to the dresser. He pulled out some clean clothes along with an extra blanket as well and set them on the foot of the bed. “Bathroom is just down the hall, you can change out of those if you want,” he said, motioning his head towards the direction instinctively even if he knew Bucky wasn’t looking.

 As expected, he received no response. Steve made his way out into the hall and pulled the door shut behind him as he left.

* * *

 

“Is he awake yet?” Sam asked, as soon as the door slid shut.

“Yeah, he just woke up,”Steve said as he ambled towards the direction of Sam’s voice, plastering on a smile to mask the resignation that had began to creep into his bones.

He found Sam sitting on the dining chair across the window, idly sipping a cup of coffee while flicking through the morning paper. “So he didn’t try to kill you yet?” he asked, without looking up.

“Well I’m still here so I guess he didn’t,” Steve quipped and nearly made Sam snort out coffee. Steve felt the beginnings of a laugh forming in his chest but he sobered when he thought about his current predicament. “He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore but he’s not exactly himself either.”

“Hate to break it to you Cap, but he’s probably not gonna be himself after all he’s been through.”

“I know, I know but—“he sighed, running a hand over his face. “It’s just that he seems more like a blank canvas than a person right now and I don’t know what to do to help him.”

“Give it a little more time, he’ll get there.” Sam set his newspaper aside and motioned Steve towards the empty dining chair across him. “You should probably have breakfast first before you get all worked up over nothing.”

 _I’m not hungry,_ Steve wanted to say but he relented when he felt his stomach protest at his own thoughts.

Sam must have read the uneasinessin his expression as he made his way over to the stove to scoop some bacon and eggs out of the pan. “Hey man, I’m sure he’ll be fine. I mean, he’s already made great progress by himself.”

Steve set his plate down and sat across him. “What makes you say that?”

Sam gave him a half-hearted shrug. “Well, he came back to D.C, that probably means he remembers enough about you to stop running.”

“That or he might just be good at throwing us off his trail.” Steve mused, and then shook his head as if to chase away his own paranoia. “He’s going to need more help than that though.”

“Okay, I am in no way qualified to deal with this but I’ll try my best.”

“Sam, I was going to ask if you knew a psychiatrist or something. I already asked so much from you and I don’t think—“

Sam held up a hand to stop him before he could break into a ramble. “Hey, it’s cool; I’m the one who offered to help you look for the guy in the first place and judging from what I read on the file, I don’t think Bucky would appreciate having a buncha’ doctors breathing down his neck.”

“Alright,” Steve said, defeated, although he couldn’t help but break into a smile. “Thanks Sam, this means a lot.”

“No problem. I’m glad I can help.”

“So what’s the best course of action now?” Steve asked.

Sam eyed the leftovers that were still on the stove. “Probably gonna have to feed him first.”

“Right.” Steve stood up hastily, almost knocking his chair over as he made his way back over to the stove.

* * *

 

The next time Steve entered the guestroom, Bucky had already showered and changed into the clothes prepared for him. He was standing next to the nightstand with his back to Steve, a faraway look present in his eyes as he stared out the window.  He didn’t show any signs of noticing Steve’s presence, although Steve knew Bucky had already heard his footsteps in the hall.

“Buck?” he called, pushing the door open a little wider. Bucky gave him no response but he turned his head slightly as if to acknowledge his presence. Steve noticed that his hair wasslicked back from the moisture that still clung to it, making him look more like the Bucky he knew back in the 1940s. He would have allowed himself to dwell on that illusion a little longer if it wasn’t for the cold eyes that met his gaze and at that moment, he realized they still had a long way to go before he could get _that Bucky back._

_If he could ever get him back._

The mere thought of it sent a sharp pang through his chest and Steve had to hold his breath to keep a sob from climbing up his throat. Bucky, on the other hand, seemed thoroughly unimpressed, one eyebrow raised as if he was silently asking him what he wanted.

“You should probably have some breakfast first,” Steve said and mentally gave himself a pat on the back for keeping his voice steady. He held out the plate in his hands for Bucky to see, and then crossed the room to set in on the nightstand. Bucky eyed him warily the whole time, moving once when he got too close to make sure their shoulders didn’t brush.

Steve tried to contain his disappointment, although he couldn’t completely stop the emotion from showing through. Bucky remained indifferent despite the fact that he was watching his expression carefully so Steve took it as a sign for him to leave.

Bucky was completely pliant for the next few days. He ate the food that Steve gave him and even allowed him to change his bandages. He never spoke to him however, only offering halfhearted grunts and nods as a response to whatever he asked.  Steve tried to get Sam to talk to him too, but he only ended up with the same results.

This continued for a few more days, as if it was a routine.

Almost a week had already passed before Bucky spoke to Steve again, although this time, Steve rather wished he hadn’t.

“Am I your prisoner now?” Bucky asked him suddenly one morning and Steve almost dropped the empty plate he was putting away. He couldn’t quitestifle the look of horror that crossed his features as he spun around to face him.

Bucky met his gaze with a blank stare. He was standing on his usual spot by the window, leaned back against the glass with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked almost nonchalant with the idea but Steve knew him well enough to recognize the subdued fear behind his eyes. He remembered seeing that look before, back when Bucky was so adamant on following Steve on the mission that would soon be his last.“No…” Steve said and shook his head to clear the fog of distraught that had begun to cloud his mind. “Of course not, why would you say that?”

“Am I allowed to leave?”

 _Yes,_ he almost said but he hesitated and ended up giving a response that was halfway between a nod and a grimace. “I think it would be better if you stayed here.”

“You are my handler then,” Bucky concluded, as if that that meant nothing to him.

Steve felt his resolve briefly flare into agitation, not towards Buck but towards Zola and everyone else that had ever laid hands on him.

“No Buck, I’m not your handler.” He had phrased the statement so firmly in his mind but the slight tremor in his voice made it sound more like a choked off sob.

Bucky only narrowed his eyes at him, silently waiting for a proper answer…or an order. He didn’t know which was worse.

Steve ran a hand over his face and opted to steer the conversation elsewhere. He figured that prodding at the subject would do nothing but grate at his increasing frustration. “Why did you come back to D.C?”

“I was looking for operational Hydra bases,” Bucky stated, his voice unwavering and his eyes locked firmly with Steve’s, although Steve could tell that it was a blatant lie by the way Bucky was flexing his flesh hand.  He could still read Bucky’s body language like an open book and he was willing to bet that Bucky could do the same with him as well.

Bucky was looking down at his hands earnestly now and it took Steve a while to realize that he had them fisted tightly at his sides as if he was in a battle stance.  Steve unclenched his hands hurriedly and moved to sit on the bed in an attempt to make their conversation seem less like an interrogation. “You destroyed most of those Hydra bases near D.C, that’s how we found your trail. Why did you do that?”

“I belong to Hydra. I did not want them to find me.”

“Why did you run from me then?”

Bucky fell silent, his mouth forming a thin line and his expression growing even colder. He turned back towards the window again and Steve was just about ready to plead for an answer when a voice barely above a whisper broke the tension in the air.

“You were chasing a ghost.”

All the reassurances died right in his throat and he found himself struggling to find a response. “Bucky…”

“Stop calling me that!” Bucky whirled around to face him. The coldness in his eyes was replaced by a look of righteous anger.

 _Good,_ Steve told himself for he knew that the Winter Soldier wasn’t capable of showing such poignant emotion.  “No I won’t stop, Bucky,” he said. He wished he could raise his voice to punctuate his point but he knew it would break before he even got the chance to get a word out. “It’s you…it’s you Bucky. You’re still there but you just don’t remember.”

Bucky did not respond, only regarded him with cold grey eyes.

Steve sucked in a shaky breath and stalked out the door.

He could try again another time.

* * *

 

Steve couldn’t really face Bucky after that conversation.  Once or twice he sent Sam in to bring Bucky food, a request that he felt immensely guilty for afterwards even though Sam insisted he’d be happy to help.

On his third attempt at an apology, Sam casually brushed him off in favor of steering the topic towards Bucky.  It’s not like he’d been sitting in the guest room with the Winter Soldier and getting to know him very well but during the duration of his stay, Bucky _did_ wander into the living room a few times for Sam to notice any minor changes. According to Sam, his eyes were a little brighter, his movements were a lot less calculated and he just seemed more _…human_.

That was what kept Steve awake that night as he lay the couch, staring at a spot on the ceiling like he could drill a hole straight though it if he concentrated hard enough.

He wanted to cling to the hope that he _would_ get Bucky back soon, although as he looked back at their prior conversation, he realized they both still had a long way to go.

He couldn’t tell if the Winter Soldier was just a hollowed out version of his friend or not.  Apart from their initial meeting in the twenty first century, he couldn’t recall the last time Bucky had looked at him so coldly. He didn’t even recognize the sound of his voice anymore.

It was still him though, the same face, the same eyes, the same voice with the wrong memories. Steve didn’t believe those memories were simply gone, they were probably just locked away somewhere in his subconscious and all Bucky had to do was find the key.

As much as Steve sought to indulge that thought a little longer, he was starting to feel the exhaustion creeping into his bones. He let his eyes fall shut and curled onto his side, ready to drift into nothingness until he heard a muffled thud from the guest room.

He kicked the blanket off himself, sprang to his feet and padded silently towards the guest room.

The door was standing ajar and the crack gave way to the streams of moonlight filtering though the window of the adjacent wall. Steve pushed it aside and carefully poked his head in.

He found Bucky sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed; blankets pooled around his waist and his hair an unkempt mess. The thud he heard probably resulted from him tumbling off the bed.

“Bucky?”

No response. The silence was only broken by the sound of Bucky’s uneven breaths.

“Bucky, are you okay?” Steve inched a little closer.

There was a shaky exhale and nothing else.

Steve shuffled closer until he was within arm’s reach. “Bucky, whatever you saw, it was just a nightmare.”

Then he made the mistake of placing a hand on his flesh shoulder.

“ _What do you want from me?!”_ Bucky growled. He smacked Steve’s hand away and scrambled away from him until his back hit the bed’s wooden leg.

Steve tried to reach out to him again and hesitated when he considered what other reaction the gesture would elicit. “Bucky I--”

“No, don’t touch me!” Bucky snapped again. There was a feral look in his eyes as his gaze darted everywhere around the room.

“Sorry…” Steve panted feeling the bone deep exhaustion to muddling his thoughts.  He supposed that calling Bucky by his name wasn’t really helping the situation but he didn’t know what else to do anymore. He leaned heavily against the wall and ran a hand through his hair, stopping at the tips as if he was considering pulling them out. “I--I don’t know how to fix this anymore.”

Bucky remained unaffected. He only leveled a glare at Steve from his place at the foot of the bed and Steve just felt so _tired_.

He could feel the beginnings of tears forming behind his eyes.

“This is my fault,” Steve whispered. He had to bite his lip in an effort to stop the sob that was building up in his throat, hard enough to draw blood.  “This is all my fault.” He could taste the copper on his tongue and his throat constricted in a way that felt like it was squeezing the words out of him. Nothing was stopping him from laying his heart bare. “What happened to you, what they did to you, Buck you didn’t deserve any of that. No one in the world deserved that and it was my fault.”

He felt himself threatening to collapse under the weight of his guilt and chose instead to close his eyes and block off the rest of the world. He failed to see Bucky slowly uncurling from his position on the floor.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Steve didn’t have the energy to hide the tears anymore. He slumped against the wall, slid onto the floor and began to sob.  “I should have sent you home after you I got you out of that base. I should have jumped. I should have looked for you. If they hadn’t gotten to you first then maybe—maybe you wouldn’t. I shouldn’t have given up so easily. I’m sorry...I don’t expect you to forgive me but I want you to know that I’m glad to have you back, even if you aren’t yourself. I’m sorry I—“

Steve cut himself off when he felt a thumb gently wiping his tears away. He instinctively tried to stop the tears but only succeeded in letting out a whimper.

“Shhh, it’s okay.”

Bucky.

Steve couldn’t breathe anymore.

The tears seemed to be streaming down in endless rivulets now.

He felt Bucky pull him into an embrace. Steve didn’t dare move, only breathed in his scent to make sure it was all real.

“It’s okay,” Bucky repeated, running his hands up and down his back until Steve had cried himself out. Once the sniffles finally ceased and his breaths evened out, Steve fell asleep dreaming of a distant memory. It felt like it belonged to another lifetime but he could clearly recall Bucky holding him in his arms the same way as he mourned for the loss of his mother.

The next morning, Steve found himself nestled in a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor. His head was throbbing, his eyes seemed like they were swollen shut and his throat was sandpaper but nonetheless he felt…lighter somehow. He tilted his head a little and found Bucky standing on his usual spot by the window but this time his back wasn’t to him. He was leaning against the windowsill with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at Steve with what seemed like _concern?_

“Hey,” Steve managed to croak, hoping that would be enough to break the tension. He didn’t know how else to continue.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked after a long drawn silence.

“A lot better.” Steve propped himself onto his elbows and tried very hard not to think about what happened.

“Good,” he said and they both just stared at each other for a moment before Steve cleared his throat and untangled himself from the blankets.  “I’m gonna go make some breakfast,” he lied and walked out the door, wondering if Bucky remembered how bad he was at cooking.

* * *

 

Something about Bucky changed after that night and Steve suddenly found it easier to slip into a comfortable routine with him. As the nightmares continued for the rest of the week, there were times when they both would end up on the couch in the middle of the night, going through all the movies that Sam had recommended to Steve. Other times they would be in the kitchen throwing together all kinds of strange midnight snacks with the leftovers.

On a particularly bad night for both of them, Steve looked up from the book he had been reading to find Bucky leaning against the doorway that led to the hall“Can’t sleep?” he asked, taking note of the page where he stopped before setting the book aside.

“It’s fucking cold,” Bucky replied before shuffling back inside his room.

Steve immediately recognized it as an invitation.

_“Got any plans on sleeping at all Buck?” Steve asked once all the Commandos have retreated to their tents and Bucky remained staring passively at the dying embers of the fire._

_“It’s fucking cold,” Bucky said, unmistakably leering at him. “Stay with me?”_

That was how they wound up sleeping on the same bed in the guest room every night.

And Steve grew even more restless every time he fell asleep curled around Bucky’s body, trying to suppress the arousal stirring in the pit of his stomach and wanting to know whether Bucky remembered what they used to be before.

“You still wanna know why I came back to D.C?” Bucky’s sleepy mumble startled him out of his thought.

Steve nodded and then realized Bucky’s eyes were still closed. “Yeah, I do.”

“I started to remember you,” he said, stretching out on the mattress like a lethargic cat and burrowing deeper into the warmth of his embrace. “I couldn’t stay away.”

It was a perfect moment for Steve to bring it up, although he chose to remain quiet, afraid that mentioning it would ruin whatever they had right now.

* * *

 

Despite his best efforts to get out of bed silently, he still found Bucky standing by the hallway a few minutes after he snuck into the living room.

“It’s been a while since I saw you do that.” He tilted his head towards the sketch pad in Steve’s hands and in the darkness Steve could see the outline of his fond smile.

“Well, I didn’t exactly have the time to draw during the war.” He shifted a little closer towards the armrest and patted the empty space beside him.  “What else to you remember?”

Bucky shrugged, plopping down next to him and jostling the couch with his weight. “Not much really, just little details that I don’t even know I remember until something triggers the memory.”

Steve nodded and tried to return to completing his drawing.

A faint glint caught his eye. He turned towards it and noticed the visible scratches on the red star of Bucky’s metal arm.  Unconsciously, he reached out to touch it. “What happened here?”

Bucky gave him another noncommittal shrug. “It wouldn’t come off, no matter what I did. I’m starting to wonder what the damn paint’s made of.”

Steve couldn’t help the small smile that came with hearing Bucky’s snide comments. “Maybe I can help with that.” He set the sketchbook aside and took the bottles of acrylic paint that Sam got him for his birthday:  red, white, and blue because he was a little shit.

He held them up for Bucky to see and wordlessly he sprawled over Steve, lying on his right side so his metal arm was facing him.

“Okay then.” Steve tried to ignore the jolt that ran down his stomach as he reached for a paintbrush and began to work.  He started by painting the star white, careful to keep his strokes even to make sure the paint wouldn’t clump. After it was dry, he outlined the star with blue and added another ring of red around it.

“It probably won’t last long though,” Steve said once he was done.

“That’s too bad,” Bucky said, examining the shield painted on his arm. “I kinda like it better.”

* * *

 

Steve hardly dared to believe just how well things were going with Bucky, when one morning everything changed. It might have been something he said or did, he didn’t know and suddenly Bucky was back to being a shadow of himself again. He barely spoke to Steve anymore, only answering him in curt phrases that held a hint of a Russian accent. He flinched every time Steve so much as held out his hand towards him and his eyes darted everywhere around the room but never met his gaze.

Sam said he was probably just starting to process what was going on around him, so Steve retreated back to sleeping on the couch, hoping Bucky would come back to himself if he was given the space.

A week passed and Bucky appeared to be getting worse as each day progressed. Steve spiraled into somewhat of a despondent cycle until he realized he couldn’t simply just sit around and _wait_ any longer.

He called Natasha that night and was gone the next morning, only leaving behind a note for Sam on the countertop.

 _Sorry, I can’t continue doing this. I think I need some time alone_.

Sam glared at the note like it had personally offended him, then pulled out his phone and tapped on Steve’s number.

_Thanks for leaving me with the baby-sitting duty. How thoughtful of you._

Steve’s reply came after a few minutes: _I won’t be gone long._

Sam sighed and pocketed his phone, knowing it would be pointless to argue over text message. 

Perhaps it _would_ be best if Steve stayed away for a while, considering how often he was sulking on the couch with the expression of a kicked puppy.

But still.

Sam meant it when he said he was in no way qualified to deal with Bucky’s insane amount of PTSD. He might have more experience with counseling but Steve was the one who knew Bucky better. How was he even supposed to reach out to someone whom he’d only met twice? (Both of which involved them shooting at each other.)

He spun towards the guest room with the intent to demand an explanation to whatever love quarrel they were having and nearly crashed into Bucky along the way. He was sitting on a nearby bar stool, sipping his cup of coffee with the most unamused expression Sam thought anyone could muster.

Sam sincerely hoped that his version of the serum did not give him the ability to read minds. “Uh, you’ve been there the whole time?”

A nod.

“So I assume you’ve seen the note?”

Another nod

“Okay…” Sam sidled away from him and proceeded to make his way towards his room.  “You need anything?” he added as an afterthought.

“Where did he go?”

“He didn’t really say.”

“How long?”

“No idea.”  Sam canted his head towards Bucky, gauging his reaction and trying to decipher whether it was concern or relief in his expression.

Nope, still nothing. Sam had always been good at reading people but he had no idea what Bucky was thinking at all. “Looks like you’re gonna be stuck with me for a while,” he added jokingly, unable to stand the oppressive silence that ensued.

Bucky blinked at him then slid off the stool and stalked back into the guest room.

Sam started to question why he had volunteered to help in the first place.

* * *

 

When Sam received a text message from Steve telling him that he off hunting rogue HYDRA agents with no backup, he took it upon himself to fix things with Bucky before Captain Idiot got himself killed in the process of being an avenging angel.

“You mind telling me what happened between you two?”

They were both in the living room, Sam idly flipping through TV channels while Bucky looked like he regretted stepping out of the guest room.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Oh come on don’t give me that,”Sam said then softened his tone a little when he noticed Bucky wince.  “What I mean is that you guys were doing fine before—heck you seem to be doing pretty okay right now. You wanna tell me why you chose to push Steve away?”

Bucky turned away from him in favor of looking out the window. The question hung between them while a long, contemplative silence ensued and for a moment, Sam was convinced that Bucky would disappear back into the guest room and not show himself for the rest of the month.

Then a faltering voice spoke up again.

“I...remember something that…I wasn’t supposed to.”

“You want to talk about it?” Sam asked, leaning forward a little and imitating the posture of a therapist as best as he could. “It’s fine if you ain’t cool with it, we could always—”

“Yeah it’s fine.” Bucky waved him off idly, then his brows furrowed again as if he was confused by his own words. “I think I’ll have to let it out eventually.”

“Okay then, go for it.”

Bucky hesitated again, struggling to find the right words to phrase whatever was in his mind. “I wanted Steve…even before the war but I don’t recall ever telling him that. I didn’t even remember that I wanted him either until…until I asked him to stay with me after a nightmare.”

Sam was forced to hold back a snort because he knew it would be inappropriate. “You mean to tell me that you guys have been sleeping on the same bed without being aware of each other’s… _feelings?_ Man, I thought you guys had this sorted out the moment I noticed that Steve stopped sleeping on the couch.”

When he looked back at Bucky again, his eyebrows were nearly up to his hairline. “I didn’t think he would be interested, so I just…”

“Pushed him away?”  Sam finished for him as he recalled a specific story that Steve told him back when they were still tracking Bucky down, something about a night at the bar and drunken love confessions. “Look man, I think your memories might have left out a major detail about you and Steve. You guys are…I don’t know how to call it but you guys were definitely together.”

“How do you know this?”

He shrugged. “Let’s just say Steve could be a lovesick idiot sometimes.”

Bucky’s smile could only be described as wistful as he relaxed into the cushions behind him and let out a sigh. “When will he be back?”

“I dunno but if he isn’t back within the next few days, I’m sure as hell going to drag his ass back personally.”

Sam looked towards Bucky again and saw him smirking this time.

They were going to get along fine.

* * *

 

Needless to say, Steve came back after a few vaguely threatening text messages from Sam, stumbling into the house in the middle of the night looking like death warmed over.

Bucky was already waiting for him in the living room, casually sprawled over the couch with his arms crossed over his chest and his glare cutting through the darkness like daggers.  His expression eventually softened once he saw the state Steve’s uniform was in.

“Buck…” Steve began warily as he propped his shield against a nearby wall, still uncertain if Bucky was himself again.

“Jesus Stevie, where have you been?” Bucky was on his feet in an instant, meeting him halfway and wrapping his metal arm around his waist to support him. His eyes roamed over Steve’s body, searching for the injuries that the serum had already closed up.

“Hydra,” Steve practically gasped and sagged against Bucky’s grip, not realizing how exhausted he was until he felt his bones creaking with exertion. “Natasha had intel on a Hydra base that was still operational...I had…I had to take them down.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to do anything stupid while I was gone?” Bucky chided as he continued to drag Steve towards the guest room, although there was no venom behind the words.

Steve dazedly cracked a smile towards his general direction, feeling light-headed all of a sudden.”You remember that?”

“I remember a lot more than that Stevie.”

Steve felt his smile grow wider but then a memory suddenly hit him. Unbidden images from Hydra’s archives began to flood his mind and small prick behind his eyes was the only warning he got before the tears starting spilling over his cheeks. “Buck…I saw what they did to you.”

Bucky stumbled for a moment, sparing a glance at Steve before readjusting his grip. “Hey, none of that now okay?” he said as gently as he could and nudged him towards the doorway of the guest room.

“You stopped fighting them after they told you I was dead.”

“Steve--”

“It’s my fault.”

“You need a shower.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Come on, I’ll help you.”

Bucky all but shoved him into the bathroom. “Are you hurt?” he asked as he flicked the light switch on but before Steve got a chance to answer, Bucky was already stripping him out of his uniform, inspecting his body for any bruises and pressing his fingers against his collarbones, his arms and his ribs in search for any fractures.

Steve felt heat bloom across his cheeks. “Bucky, what are you—?”

And then Bucky was framing his face with his hands, standing close enough for Steve to feel the warmth of his body. “I’m gonna show you just how much I remember, Stevie.”

Bucky gently pushed him into the glass shower stall and Steve would have tripped over the ledge if it wasn’t for the metal arm supporting him. He found himself pressed up against the cool tiles and had just enough time to let out a small  gasp before Bucky’s lips were against his.

The kiss was slow and tentative, summing up all the days they’ve spent as strangers around each other. Steve’s thoughts faded into a blissful haze and his eyes fell shut as he returned the kiss with as much vigor. He should have been contented with the way they were right now because it was so much more than what he had initially asked for, but Bucky’s lips were the warmest things he had even felt ever since coming out of the ice and suddenly all the blood rush in his head traveled straight down to his dick.

Steve couldn’t help but let out a low whine as he coaxed Bucky’s lips open with his tongue, a silent plea for more. The slight tremor between them indicated that Bucky had chuckled but Steve couldn’t really tell with the way his heartbeat was racing. To him, it felt more like a shiver and he was just about to pull away, an apology ready at the tip of his tongue but then Bucky was tightening his embrace and parting his lips to give him more access, his mouth shaping into a delighted smile.

The kiss lasted for a few more moments before Bucky broke away to trail his lips down Steve’s jaw and suck at his neck. Steve gasped again when Bucky’s mouth finally found his hardened nipple and promptly decided to do something about their growing erections.

“Buck please…” Steve wrapped his arms around him as best as he could and began to tug incessantly at his shirt.

That immediately caught Bucky’s attention. He pulled away from Steve somewhat reluctantly and stood up to fix him with a playful grin. “I’m not the one who needs a shower, Stevie.’ he snaked his metal around his waist and flipped them both over so Steve was the one angled towards the shower head.

“Sorry I shut you out before. I didn’t think you would be interested after…after everything.” Bucky’s smile turned earnest after he spoke and in that moment Steve was determined to alleviate the storm clouds in his eyes.

“We’re both idiots then,” Steve said hoarsely and reached behind him to twist the knob, dousing them both in warmth.

Bucky hummed in agreement and stripped out of his own clothes before pulling Steve into a deeper kiss.

Later, once they were dried and tucked into bed, Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve’s head. “I’m glad to be here, alright?” He said and hitched Steve higher against his chest to make sure he could hear his heartbeat. “If you found me then, you would be on your own now and I wouldn’t want that okay?”

“M’still sorry,” Steve muttered, absently curling tighter against him.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Bucky persisted, more firmly now. “I will willingly go through all of that if it meant I would be with you again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Whoa this turned out to be longer than I thought it would be, so thank you guys so much for sticking around and taking time to read this. I hope you liked guys liked it.
> 
> I'd like to apologize if the transition between scenes might be a little...how do I put this...choppy? I've had this idea for a while and I was planning to post it before the release of Civil War but then I really didn't get enough free time to write so this fic just kind of...sat there for a while. Well, at least I finished it before 2016 ended.
> 
> A special thank you to sara_holmes for beta reading. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed the story, I have a lot more stories in store and if you guys ever feel like talking or crying over gay ships together, feel free to say hi on [Tumblr](http://the-silver-butterfly150.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Your feedback/constructive criticism is very much appreciated.


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